


Orientation

by rosewindow



Series: Werewolves in Space [2]
Category: Firefly, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewindow/pseuds/rosewindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You never know where life will take you, Scott. You, of all people, should know that already. Stiles couldn’t know where life would take him either. There’s a whole lot of space out there, and sometimes, just having a ship - even one going the wrong direction - is enough to keep you oriented.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orientation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boxoftheskyking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/gifts).



Allison spent a lot of time watching. She seemed to be most fascinated by the bridge, and Derek was forever kicking her out of there, though it didn't do much good as Isaac would just invite her back in. She spent a fair amount of time watching Scott tinker in _Selene's_ engines too, even offering suggestions from time to time in her strange manner of speaking. Scott was perfectly content to let her watch so long as she didn't mess with anything critical. It was the doctor who was always hustling her out of Scott's hammock in the engine room.

Scott spent a lot of time watching too. He watched how she and the doctor interacted, with teasing warmth and an easy affection, tempered by the doctor's worry about his adopted sister. He watched how Stiles cared for Allison, how he let her rail against him when she was in one of her bad phases, and how he worked with her when she was more lucid to make sure she understood where and who she was. He watched the doctor fussing over the scans and medical books which seemed to be about all that he'd brought with him. Really he just watched Stiles a lot.

Unfortunately, Erica had noticed.

The door to the engine room clanged open and Erica leaned against the frame, grin just a little bit too wide.

“Mornin' Scotty,” she snickered.

“Beam me up,” Scott mouthed along with her. It was an old joke, one he'd been tired of since his first month onboard.

She flopped down in his hammock and started fiddling with the compressor he'd been working on earlier. He was quietly smug when it sparked and she dropped it with a yelp.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“The doc's quite a catch, isn't he? Aside from the whole, 'on the run from the law' thing. Don't you think, Scott?”

“He's- fine enough, I suppose.”

“Well I think he’s fine. His sister too, though she’s a bit odd.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a point, Erica?”

“No point. Just, there are other people interested, if you aren’t going to make a move.”

Scott spluttered. “What are you- I’m not- you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Erica shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ll see you around, Scotty.”

\---

Scott burst into Lydia’s shuttle without knocking.

“What have I told you about-” she started, slipping her robe back into place as she turned. “Oh, it’s you, Scott. Nevermind. Come in.”

“Has Derek been bothering you again?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Only always. What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“You know about romance and stuff, right?”

She laughed lightly. “It’s sort of my job.”

“Erica thinks I like Stiles.”

Lydia gave him a critical look. “This might take a while. Sit down.”

Scott sat down on the pillow she indicated, and Lydia took the seat behind him. She started brushing a comb through his hair, getting out the worst of the tangles at first, but then just keeping up the soothing motion.

“You came aboard after me. Did anyone ever tell you how I ended up onboard _Selene_?” Lydia asked.

Scott shook his head gently.

“I started training at age twelve. My mother was a former Companion, and she insisted on it, despite my father’s protests. I didn’t mind; I received one of the best educations available in the ‘Verse, and I’m very good at what I do.

“I wasn’t supposed to be out here near the Rim - I was based primarily on Londinium - but one of my usual clients specifically requested that I meet him on Persephone. Only he hadn’t arranged the meeting; one of his lackeys had. I was trapped.”

Lydia’s voice is colder and harsher than Scott’s ever heard it, and he twists to look at her. Her hands stay firm on his head, keeping him facing forward.

“He had sent a ship for me, had put me up in his compound, I had nowhere to go. I ran.

“I was lost, on a strange planet, inappropriately dressed for the part of town I found myself in, and without any friends. When I found an unlocked ship with a trajectory to Londinium, it was the answer to all my prayers. Only, they weren’t actually going to Londinium. A fact I became aware of soon after the crew became aware of me. Luckily, the Captain,” Lydia sniffed derisively, “and I were able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

There was silence as Lydia continued to run a comb through Scott’s hair.

“Umm. What does that have to do with me?”

“You never know where life will take you, Scott. You, of all people, should know that already. Stiles couldn’t know where life would take him either. There’s a whole lot of space out there, and sometimes, just having a ship - even one going the wrong direction - is enough to keep you oriented.”

“Are you saying I’m going in the wrong direction?”

Lydia sighed and went to sit on her bed so she was facing Scott. “I’m saying, everyone thinks you like Stiles, except Stiles and you. There might be something there. Go for it.”

“Do you think he-”

“Only one way to find out. Now get out of my shuttle.”

\---

Scott was going to go for it, he really was - if only to stop Lydia from glaring at him every time they passed in the corridors - but there was never a good time. Someone would always appear, usually Allison or Isaac, though one horrifyingly embarrassing time it had been Derek. Scott had resolved himself to this being one of those things that just didn’t work out, when there was a knock on his door.

“C'mon in!” he called, digging through a drawer for a clean shirt.

The person who'd entered made a small, shocked noise. Scott turned around to see Stiles, blushing furiously and pointedly not looking at Scott's bare chest.

Scott laughed. “I'm certain you've seen plenty of bodies, Doc. No need to be shy.”

“Right, of course. I just- didn't expect- I didn't realize you weren't decent.”

Scott laughed harder. “It ain't like I'm _naked_. I'm plenty decent.”

“Those muscles are _indecent_ ,” Stiles muttered, just on the edge of hearing.

“What's going on?” Scott asked, taking his time shaking out and slipping on a fresh shirt.

“Allison. She's asking for you. Refuses to go to sleep until you walk her through the repairs and modifications for the engine again.”

“She knows it better than I do,” Scott said with a soft smile.

Stiles smiled back. “That's what I told her, but she said you tell it better.”

“A funny kind of bedtime story,” Scott said, leading the way up the ladder and down to the passenger rooms. “My mom mostly told me old stories from Earth-That-Was. King Arthur, the Three Little Pigs, stuff like that.”

“My- my mom read me King Arthur too.”

“Yeah?” Scott asked excitedly. “I loved them! The sword in the stone, and the round table, and Merlin. I think a large part of why I ended up with Deaton was because he reminded me of Merlin.”

“You've mentioned him before. How exactly did you end up here from the Abbey?”

“Converting.” They'd reached Allison's room, and she spoke without looking up at them.

“You're supposed to be in bed,” Stiles scolded. “That's the deal.”

She looked up from the drawings spread out across the floor.

“Is that part of the engine?” Scott asked in surprise, picking up one of them. “No, wait. It's a plan of the Abbey. That's incredible. How did you-?”

“Converting,” Allison said again. She got up and slipped into bed. “Tell that story, please.”

Scott looked quizzically at Stiles, who shrugged back. He sat down on the edge of the bed, while Stiles took a seat at the little desk. Scott wasn't the greatest storyteller, but he did his best.

He'd grown up in a town in the shadow of the largest mountain on Salisbury. On one of the lower slopes of the mountain, was the Abbey of Saint Cuthbert. After his dad left, one of the Shepherds, a man called Deaton, had taken an interest in him, and given him a job running errands for the Abbey and generally keeping them connected to the outside world so the Shepherds could focus on their work.

“It's easy to get lost, Scott,” he'd said. “In prayer, in grief, in anger. It's always good to have a way back to the rest of the world; like an anchor, keeping you grounded.”

They hadn't seen much of the war in their part of space – a few ships passing overhead, the Alliance recruiters in the town, and once or twice wounded soldiers in Deaton's back room who were patched up and sent on their way in a hurry. And after the war, life continued much as it always had. Until Deaton took Scott with him on a trip to a little mission post on an outer planet that was having some trouble with local government. The trip there on a colonist transporter was fine, but on the way back, things got interesting.

They were about four hours out of atmo when the first alarm sounded. Scott and Deaton looked up from their chess board.

“Nothing to worry about, gents,” said Reyes the mechanic as she breezed past towards the engine room.

A few minutes later, a second alarm started. Reyes hurried past in the other direction, and then back after a moment, this time carrying a tool box.

“I think perhaps we ought to head up to the galley,” said Deaton lightly.

As they left the room, Scott glanced back towards the engine room. He winced as he saw Reyes pounding the main engine block with a wrench. Boyd descended calmly onto the lower level and shuffled them and the three other passengers up to the galley to get strapped in.

“Erica!” he called down the corridor. “You got it?”

“Ummm,” came the tremulous reply, just as another alarm started up and then just as quickly whined to a halt.

Smoke billowed out of the engine room.

Scott wasn't aware of moving until he was in the room, waving smoke away from his face.

He'd only been in space once before, when his dad had taken him on a day trip just before he left them, but he knew engines. The generator at the Abbey was like his baby, and this looked similar enough.

“What's happened?” he snapped.

Reyes blinked at him, but outlined the problems. As she talked, Scott poked his way around the engine, getting his bearings.

“Hand me a two inch wrench and a pair of pliers,” he said, slipping down under the engine to get to work.

The tools appeared by his head, and he lost himself in the mechanics. When he came out, a while later, the alarms had stopped, and the ship seemed to be back on course. At least he hoped it was, because otherwise, the Captain and the pilot really shouldn't have been down in the engine room.

“Umm,” he said. “It's fixed for now, but you really ought to get her fully checked out once we land. There might be stuff deep in there that I can't get to while we’re flying. Uh.”

The Captain kept glaring at him. Then he turned on Reyes. “Explain to me what just happened.”

“I don't know exactly, Cap'n. It's not something I've ever seen before.”

She was obviously faltering, so Scott stepped in. “It was actually a pretty rare problem. Luckily, it happened to our generator a few years back, so I knew what to look for. Sometimes wires get crossed in there and all you've gotta do is convert the signals so the ship can read 'em right again. It shouldn't trouble you more, but like I said, a full inspection of this ship wouldn't go amiss. It looks like she's been run hard without an abundance of upkeep.”

Reyes and the pilot shifted awkwardly.

“No- no offense meant,” Scott added hurriedly.

“Who are you?” the Captain asked.

“My name's Scott McCall. I work for the Abbey of Saint Cuthbert on Salisbury.”

“But you're not a Shepherd?”

“No, sir.”

“You know engines? Machines? How to fix things when they go wrong and keep them working smoothly?”

“Sure, yeah. I'm pretty good with my hands.”

“Do you want a job?”

\---

“And just like that I was the ship's mechanic,” Scott finished with a little shrug. “ _Selene_ waited for me while I went home to say goodbye to my mom and get some stuff, and then we were off.”

Allison had gone to sleep almost instantly, but Scott had just kept talking. Once he'd started, it was like he’d opened the gates and he couldn't stop. Stiles sat there and listened to him.

“I'm glad you guys stayed,” Scott said softly. “The others all fought together; they're so close. And Lydia keeps herself apart. It's nice, having other people onboard.”

He reached out and put a hand on Stiles's knee, smiling up at him.

Stiles pulled back. “I- I really ought to make sure she's okay and sleeping and all,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

He stood up suddenly and leaned past Scott to place a hand gently on Allison's forehead. Scott stayed as still as possible. If he'd turned his head to the left, he could have kissed Stiles's shoulder.

Scott had to move so Stiles could check her pulse, and he went to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“I could, um, make us some tea?”

“No,” Stiles said softly. “I think I really ought to get to bed. You too. It's a big day tomorrow.”

\---

Scott really didn’t have much to do on jobs like this. He got Derek, Boyd, and Erica loaded into the Mule, sent them out to bust down some doors, and then retreated to the engine room in case he needed to help out with the getaway. Luckily the job went smoothly - especially considering their track record - and the second the door was secure behind them, Isaac took off. Everything went fine until just before they left atmo, at which point, _Selene_ lurched over an air pocket and Scott tumbled against the reactor. He hissed in pain as hot metal bands pressed against his shoulder.

“Who taught you how to fly?” Scott shouted at Isaac.

“What happened?” Derek snapped, and Scott grimaced.

“Nothing. Just a minor burn; it’s nothing.”

“We’ve got a doctor on board now, Scott. Get your ass to the infirmary. That’s an order.”

Scott waited until they were flying smooth to wander over to get treatment. Stiles was not amused.

“You shouldn’t delay on something like this. You’re lucky it’s not too bad,” Stiles fussed, rubbing a salve over the burn mark.

“Sorry,” Scott muttered.

Stiles looked up in surprise. “Oh God. No, it’s not your fault. I’m just- I’ve got a horrible bedside manner, I apologize. It was always what I got the lowest marks on. My professors were always commenting on it, and they always made me do the role playing exercises.”

Stiles chuckled. He hadn’t let go of Scott’s hand the entire time, but Scott wasn’t about to point that out and lose the warmth.

“You never talk about your life before,” he said softly. “I like hearing about it.”

Stiles’s face fell. “I don’t really like to talk about it. It - it feels like such a dream. I can’t believe I used to be that person who was worried about grades and who would sleep with me.”

“I’m sure you had lots of takers on that score,” Scott said, a strange mix of fondness and jealousy in his voice.

Stiles snorted. “Me? God no. And I don’t suppose I’ll have any takers anytime soon. I’ve got Allison to look after now, and not much time to meet people.”

Scott opened his mouth to say something; now was the perfect chance to go for it, but Stiles pulled away to get a roll of gauze.

“How strict is Lydia on her ‘no clients onboard’ policy?” he laughed.

Scott slammed his mouth shut. He was silent as Stiles wrapped his arm, and left the room without anything more than a muttered “Thank you.” It had been stupid to think that Stiles would actually want him, or want anyone on this crew. His life was so much bigger, so much grander. He would be better off with someone like Lydia; someone fancy, and elegant, and not covered in engine grease.

\---

Scott wasn’t hiding, no matter what Isaac said. _Selene_ just needed a few repairs; the past few runs had been hard on her. Erica cornered him early one morning at the door to the crew’s quarters when he was heading to the engine room for the day.

“The mopin’ ain’t cute anymore, Scotty. Quit your pinin’ and just kiss the good doctor already.”

He tried to edge past her, but she widened her stance and crossed her arms. “No. I’m serious. Your emotions are stinking up the whole ship.”

“Erica,” said Boyd softly, poking his head out of their bunk. “Leave Scott alone.”

“But-”

“Leave it.”

Erica grumbled, but stepped to one side so Scott could leave.

“Thanks,” he mouthed at Boyd.

Erica jolted his shoulder as he passed by and crooked a sculpted eyebrow at him. He smiled crookedly back, but didn’t stop to explain.

Derek and Allison were sitting across from each other at the galley table, apparently having a staring contest. He kept an eye on them as he made himself a mug of tea.

“Me too, please,” said Allison without turning to look at what Scott was doing.

Scott poured a second mug. “Captain?”

Derek shook his head, attention remaining focused on Allison. Scott sat down next to her and she twisted in her seat to stare at him straight on. Scott gripped his mug of tea and stared back for lack of anything else to do.

“You watch a lot,” Scott pointed out after a few minutes.

She finally blinked and turned away, muttering, “It helps.”

Scott knew there was something wrong with her, that the Alliance had done something to her brain, but even Stiles who had known her forever didn’t know exactly what, and Scott had never known her to be any different than how she was now. “Helps with what?” he asked cautiously.

“Not going to break,” she scoffed. “Don’t need a mechanic.”

He smiled, not sure whether he should be offended or happy that her sense of humor was apparently intact. “Alright. Sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Allison said, her bright eyes suddenly focused on him again. “Ask him.”

“Ask who what?” Scott asked, feigning ignorance even as he felt his cheeks burning.

Derek finally spoke up, “Isn’t that obvious?”

Scott shook his head. “He doesn’t need a mechanic either. But _Selene_ does. Excuse me.”

He stalked down to the engine room, keeping his head down in case he ran into anyone else. Scott loved space, loved the adventure and the freedom, and he loved _Selene_ almost as much as he loved his mother, but sometimes the ship was too gorram small. Case in point, Derek had apparently followed him down to the engine room and was now looming in the door frame.

“Gah! Is that necessary?” Scott grumbled.

“Apparently.” Derek stepped into the room so he could be heard over the hum of the engines. “Look, I’m sure you want to talk about it about as much as I do, but it needs to be said. We’re going to be stuck on Ariel for a few days with nothing to do while Lydia gets her annual checkup, and I’d rather not have this-” he waved a hand vaguely “-affecting the atmosphere while we’re there. Sort it out, one way or another, and soon.”

Scott sighed and tried to focus on his work, but Derek stood there awkwardly until Scott waved him off with an exasperated, “Fine.”

\---

Scott made very careful plans about when exactly would be the best moment to talk to Stiles and where onboard was the most romantic. Those were all derailed when Stiles announced his planned foray into the criminal underworld.

Scott had never been this nervous on a job. It was ridiculous - Stiles had planned it surprisingly well considering he was new to crime, and the prep work had all been perfect - Scott shouldn’t be worried. Everything would be fine.

“Scott! Derek needs a hard burn from us, yesterday! Get her started, and then go get the doors open for ‘em!”

“Feds on their tail?” Scott asked, swinging into action, getting _Selene_ warmed up and ready to roll.

“Feds or something worse," Isaac said grimly.

"Something _worse_?" Scott cursed and went into double time. The engine was humming - he’d gotten a couple major repairs done after the payment for their last job, so everything was in working order. He got the all clear from Isaac, and went to open the hull door. Isaac had lifted off the ground, they were ready to take flight, but the crew still weren’t aboard.

He could see the imitation ambulance approaching off on the horizon, closely followed by another actually official looking hovercraft. Boyd was driving and he was good, but it was a vehicle he wasn’t used to, and their pursuers were gaining. None of them were armed either - it would have shown up in scans at the hospital - but the Feds, or whoever it was, were.

Bullets pinged off the sides of the ambulance and the hull of _Selene_. Scott sheltered behind a crate near the entrance. An extremely lucky bullet entered the ambulance’s left engine, and the vehicle listed, smoke pouring out behind it.

“Isaac!” Scott called. “Get ready! They’re in trouble!”

Isaac cursed, and _Selene_ hummed, eager to go. Scott stood up so he could slam the doors closed the second they were in the cargo bay. Pain slammed into his side and he gasped. He staggered, but kept his grip on the door controls.

The ambulance whizzed past, almost too fast. Scott slammed his hand down on the button and yelled, “GO!”

Isaac went. The force of their upward trajectory pushed Scott to the ground, and he dropped, unable to keep himself up. He heard the others exit the ambulance, checking themselves and each other for injuries. He heard Isaac whooping as they left atmosphere. He heard Allison say, “Drifting away.”

Things were quickly getting blurry. His side hurt terribly, but he was more concerned by the warmth spilling over his hands and the cold creeping in everywhere else. That wasn’t good, right? The roof of the cargo hold spun overhead, and there seemed to be more noise, but he couldn’t see what was going on because black spots were starting to creep across his vision.

Stiles’s face loomed suddenly into view. He was pale as death, and that was funny for some reason.

“Don't you dare! Scott! Don't you dare die!”

Dimly, Scott could feel Stiles pressing his hands against the bullet wound in his side.

“I keep getting injured, don’t I?” he asked weakly, with the biggest smile he could muster.

Stiles looked like he wanted to smack him. “Yeah, and you need to _stop_ ,” he said, his voice rough, but his hands gentle as he pulled Scott's shirt up. “There are four trained soldiers on this ship, why do you feel the need to get yourself into these situations?”

“Just tryin’ to help out.”

“Should we move him?” someone asked, and Stiles must have nodded, because suddenly there was a flurry of movement and Scott was being lifted up onto one of the gurneys from the heist. He couldn’t tell who was pushing him, but Stiles’s face was always there above him when his vision drifted back. He felt himself get lifted onto the infirmary bed and then Stiles was looking him over properly. The doctor swabbed carefully at the wound, inspected it to make sure no shrapnel was left inside, put in a few neat stitches, and then taped a bandage over it. He worked quickly and efficiently, but Scott could feel that the doctor's hands were shaking.

“Hey. Hey, hey. Stiles. What's wrong?”

He reached out and caught one of Stiles's hands before the doctor pulled away to get a shot of morphine.

“I just- I don’t want you hurt, Scott. I don’t like it. I-” he cut himself off and grabbed the drugs.

He injected them carefully, and pressed a little square of gauze against the puncture.

“You keep me sane, Scott,” Stiles said softly, squeezing Scott’s hand.

Scott squeezed back.

“It gets so, overwhelming, dealing with Allison, and I love her, I love helping her, it’s what I need to- want to do, but...” he scrubbed his free hand over the back of his neck. “It’s hard,” he moaned pitifully, as if it hurt him to admit it, “and I need to escape sometimes, and you’re always there. You’re so- you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Scott. You can’t die; you can’t leave me, okay?”

His words were drifting in and out of focus, and Scott was trying so hard to focus on them. Stiles noticed.

“And I’m only telling you this now, because I’m a coward, and I’m pretty sure you won’t remember this when you’re fully conscious, but I love you, okay? I love you.”

Scott tried to respond, but couldn’t make his tongue work. His eyes were so heavy. He felt Stiles smooth a hand over his forehead, and then even more gently over the bandage on his side, before he retreated to the other side of the infirmary.

\---

Scott didn’t get a chance to talk to Stiles until a week after he was released from the infirmary. He was pretty sure Stiles was avoiding him. He had an excuse; despite the unfortunate appearance of Feds on Ariel, the plan had actually worked and so Stiles had a plethora of scans and data to sort through. So every time Scott passed his quarters on the way to the engine room or saw him in the galley at mealtimes or found an excuse the visit the infirmary, Stiles had his nose buried in his tablet or a medical journal or once a 3D model of a brain.

So a perfect time still hadn’t presented itself, but Scott was tired of waiting. He made sure Allison was ensconced on the bridge, bothering Isaac, and he cornered Stiles in the infirmary. Stiles was rummaging in a box of medicine lifted from the hospital and muttering to himself. Scott hesitated; he hadn’t quite decided what he was going to say.

"I remember,” he blurted. “What you said, after I was shot."

Stiles froze up, then set down the vial of medicine very carefully. His back was a sharp line of tension, and Scott was already regretting this.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I really hoped you wouldn’t.”

“Why?” Scott asked, taking a half step into the room.

Stiles stiffened even more, and though he shuffled around to face Scott, he kept his eyes lowered, refusing to make eye contact. “I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want to make things awkward. Well, more awkward.” He glanced up briefly, eyes desparate. “I don’t belong here, Scott. I don’t fit in like you do, and I don’t want you or anyone else pitying me for this- these stupid feelings.”

Scott felt like he’d been sucked into space without a suit. He gaped for a moment, probably making things worse, but unable to stop. “They’re not stupid,” he finally settled on.

“Yeah they are,” Stiles grumbled, staring at his clenched hands.

Scott had to smile even though it was probably the wrong moment. “You’re being stupid,” he said softly, lifting Stiles’s chin. “I remember what you said, and I’m kicking myself for not doing anything about it sooner.”

“What?”

“I only took a shine to you the moment you stepped onboard,” Scott said, veering towards exasperation. For a genius, the doctor was being rather slow on the uptake. Maybe kissing him would get the idea through his head?

“Really?” Stiles asked timidly.

Scott’s smile broadened and he stepped forward to place a light kiss on Stiles’s lips. “Really,” he said softly, before leaning in for a real kiss.

The intercom crackled. “Finally!” Erica crowed.

Scott could hear Isaac and Derek telling her to shut up and Boyd’s quiet laughter, but he really didn’t care.

\---

It was maybe the happiest Scott had ever been, despite a narrow escape from Allison’s family, Lydia being kidnapped, a brush with Reavers, and Derek nearly running off with the very attractive Captain of a mercenary vessel. Every minute he and Stiles had together was wonderful. They talked and kissed for hours, curled together on the couches outside the infirmary or on the hammock in the engine room.

Scott emerged from under the engine block to find Stiles leaning on the doorframe. He gave Scott an appreciative once-over as he stood. “Hey.”

“I’m glad hot and sweaty tickles your fancy,” Scott said, blushing and ineffectually wiping oil off his face.

“Hot is right,” Stiles smirked, stepping up to Scott. “Allison’s having tea with Lydia so we’ve got an hour or two.”

Scott dropped his tools and pulled Stiles into an embrace. “Shiny,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

\---

THE END


End file.
